


Shelter

by Lady_Michiru



Category: Hey! Say! JUMP, Johnny's Entertainment
Genre: Angst, Casual Sex, Drinking, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Friends With Benefits, Hey Say BEST being idiots, Light Ya-ya-yah angst, M/M, Mentions of Underage Sex, Mentions of underage drinking, Referenced het relationship, Smoking, mentions of underage smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-26
Updated: 2018-01-26
Packaged: 2019-03-09 16:11:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13485102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Michiru/pseuds/Lady_Michiru
Summary: Love. Friendship. Peace.These are the things Yaotome Hikaru won't accept he needs.And then, there's Yabu.It's a good thing all of them are grown-ups now, isn't it?Or: we are not friends, but we are friends with benefits.





	Shelter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chocolatecrack](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chocolatecrack/gifts).



> Dearest Recipent...  
> I. AM. SO. SORRY.  
> I wanted to write beautiful angst for you, but Hikaru was in denial, Yabu was unhelpful, and life was hell.  
> I loved your prompts so much, so I kind of took them, and mixed them, and made an unrecognizable mess out of them.  
> Once again: SORRY OTL
> 
> NINJA-BETA OF MY SOUL I LOVE YOU SO MUCH. Thanks for helping this messy fic writer. I really love you. Marry me.  
> Thanks to K too, who read this mess in her scarce free time and swore she wouldn't lie to me about it not sucking... too much.  
> And huge thanks to the mods, because I suck as exchange-participant but they never judged me for it. People like you are the reason this world is a place I want to keep living on. <3 *_*

Hikaru wasn’t sure he believed in love. At least not in romantic love.

Love was something that, at best, happened to other people. Maybe a commercial endeavor to sell sickeningly sweet cards and chocolates on February 14th. Most certainly some form of illusion.

Comfort was real, because pain was real.

That’s how it had started, anyway.

***

Usually, BEST get-togethers just don’t happen.

Coming up with a day that works for all of them is hell. Especially for Daiki, who might not accept his social butterfly condition, but needs to be informed of any plan with at least two weeks notice, because he always has somewhere to be.

It used to annoy Hikaru more in the early days, when he was determined to get their unit to work no matter what it took. When Takaki looked like he hated the guts of everyone in JUMP -and maybe he did-, and Inoo and Daiki always seemed to be afraid of Hikaru in particular and the world in general.

It’s better now; even if they still never really know if Takaki is going to show up or not. At least they support each other. All of them are adults.

Lightweight drinker adults.

But Hikaru has always known this. That’s why he insisted they gathered here, at his apartment, instead of a VIP room at some bar or restaurant. Putting drunk Hey! Say! BEST members in taxis is almost as hard as getting them together off work in the first place, and at least if they stay the night Hikaru can be sure they are safe and out of trouble. Scandals should be left to Seven, they are better at them.

Daiki calls him _mother hen_ when Hikaru throws a blanket over him, then promptly falls asleep on Hikaru’s large sofa-bed. He’s snuggled comfortably between Inoo and Takaki, and looks happier than anybody in his state of inebriation has the right to look. Hikaru half hopes he gets a nasty hangover.

He sighs, and contemplates whether to go to the balcony for a smoke before or after putting away the garbage as he finishes his beer. It’s only his second can in the night. He’s never been a heavy drinker.

It’s cold outside, but Hikaru doesn’t grab a jacket before stepping out. It’s not like he needs the nicotine right now, but garbage can wait a couple more minutes, can’t it?

The sparkling night landscape welcomes him as he fishes for the pack of cigarettes he keeps in the pockets of his lounging-at-home sweats.

The view was more than half the reason why he choose to live here in particular. The mesmerizing city lights, almost unobstructed from his vantage point, hypnotize him as the familiar burn of the cigarette gets to his lungs and nicotine expands into his system. He gets lost in the frigid wind sweeping through the buildings beyond. The illusion of stillness and serenity. Deep night. Almost peace.

Maybe that’s why he doesn’t notice Yabu has joined him until he speaks, softly, but managing to startle him anyway.

“Lighter?”

“Shit…” Hikaru swears in a whisper, coughing out his light shock in puffs of smoke and winter.

Still, he fetches the Zippo his brother gave him for Christmas from his pocket and hands it to Yabu, managing to smile.

“Thanks,” comes Yabu’s voice, a little muffled by the cigarette hanging loosely from his lips. “Sorry for the scare.” 

“Not your fault, I was spacing out.” Hikaru chooses not to address the fact that Yabu never has a lighter with him, though he’s been smoking for almost as long as Hikaru has.

They spend some minutes side by side, in companionable silence. Something that was utopian at best some years ago.

Adults, Hikaru reminds himself. Drunk adults.

The balcony isn't too big, and the little table he put there, with the only purpose of holding an ashtray, makes the space smaller. Hikaru’s unclothed forearm just about touches Yabu’s. Maybe it’s a smoker’s thing -not being too bothered by the cold-, but Yabu is wearing just a medium sleeved tee. No jacket.

Hikaru can feel the heat radiating from Yabu’s skin as if they were in fact touching. Which also brings back a lot of memories. Old times, old scars.

Hikaru’s first smoke, his first beer. Underage and secret. Yabu and him shared a lot of firsts those days, but wandering too much in that direction never ends up being a good idea.

“You’re all broody.” Yabu chortles, softly bumping Hikaru’s shoulder with his own.

“I’m not _broody_ ,” Hikaru retorts, his voice steady despite the obnoxious shiver running down his spine. Yabu usually keeps from being even this little physical just because. “My soul is naturally inclined to melancholy, that’s all.”

“Who would have thought…” Yabu sighs. “It takes a while to get through your soul-of-the-party shell, but your inner emo never stops showing up afterwards.”

“Not everyone is born with the special knack you have for enjoying Christmas versions of songs. Some of us have artist’s hearts.”

“Emo artists,” Yabu counterattacks, making Hikaru laugh softly in spite of himself.

And Yabu smiles.

Hikaru knows that contemplative smile, knows the fog of days past that clouds Yabu’s eyes. All the telltale signs. This has happened before, more than a couple of times since the day Management broke both of their hearts and told them they were going to debut without their friends. When they knew they only had each other left. And they hated it. 

Hikaru doesn’t move away when Yabu turns his way, invading Hikaru’s personal space to stub out his half smoked cigarette on the ashtray. He doesn’t back away when Yabu grabs him loosely by the waist, his cold hands burning through the cotton of Hikaru’s shirt. Electricity cracking on every one of his nerve endings.

“It’s been a while,” Yabu rasps, his eyes trained on Hikaru’s. There’s no need to ask what he’s talking about.

“You’re drunk,” Hikaru sighs, the distance between their lips getting narrower the faster Hikaru’s heart beats.

“I’m not.”

“That’s such a typical drunken reply,” Hikaru chuckles past the very tight knot that’s forming in his stomach. 

“So what? I’ve been drunk before.”

“You have a girlfriend.” It’s Hikaru’s last argument. Because Yabu might not be the most forthcoming person about his personal life, but Hikaru and half the world saw those leaked pictures in a Friday’s spread, and in the Internet after that. It wasn’t that long ago.  
.  
“Not anymore.” Yabu’s voice is deep, almost purring. His words are spoken right below Hikaru’s ear, like Yabu hasn’t forgotten, in all these years, what makes Hikaru’s blood falter in his veins.

Comfort. It has always been about comfort between them. And Yabu is right; it’s been a long time.

Yabu lays a soft kiss on the curve of Hikaru’s neck before turning away and leaving for the warmth of the apartment. Leaving Hikaru alone.

Hikaru breathes, his head dizzy in spite of not being drunk. Or maybe because of it. 

He rests his back on the window door and takes the last, deep drag out of his cigarette.

The faint stars above stare back at him, and he tries to hear their judgement, but they are just too damn far away.

***

Keeping their voices down isn’t a problem. They go back way too long; and even with their groupmates too passed out to pose a threat, some habits are hard to break.

Bad habits. 

But oh, so necessary when Hikaru was seventeen and unable to come to terms with everything he knew and loved falling apart around him. When he needed an anchor and Yabu didn’t quite know what he needed, but the only thing they had was each other.

They hung on, for dear life. Chasing each other’s nightmares away when Ya-ya-yah was ripped apart and they were both too young and too shocked to protest. Using pleasure to numb the pain, even though it only made the wound deeper.

They were never friends. Not really. But he cared. He cared enough to want to help Yabu cope with the stress of being the nominal leader of a group that bled and seethed and didn’t quite set. 

Comfort.

Once and again.

Even now.

Yabu is kissing him hard and rough, pressing him against the recently closed door. Yabu’s hands tracing the same patterns burned in Hikaru’s skin since so long ago they’re like a brand of fire on his body.

Comfort in the familiarity.

It’s so easy to get lost in the ebb and flow of pleasure and almost pain, in the sight of Yabu on his knees, dragging Hikaru’s sweats down, biting the hard muscle over Hikaru’s hipbone. Puffs of air taunting wet skin into goosebumps.

He threads his fingers unapologetically hard into Yabu’s fluffy hair, guiding him down with firm determination, because he knows Yabu is a fucking tease.

Yabu’s mouth feels the same way, after years and years. He can close his eyes and know it’s Yabu sucking him in deep, moaning around him. His lips tight around him, dragging him to certain doom. He knows that if he looks down he will meet Yabu’s eyes, his pupils blown wide with desire, right hand wrapped around the base of Hikaru’s cock, left one jerking himself off at a lazy pace. He knows he could finish like this, and Yabu wouldn’t even flinch before swallowing...

“Stop,” Hikaru pleads. He doesn’t want it to end yet.

Of course, Yabu doesn’t. Stubborn bastard. So, Hikaru grabs his shoulders and forces him away, earning a low growl for his endeavours that scratches just right at Hikaru’s body memory, and makes him twitch.

“Bed?” Hikaru asks, barely able to form words with so little air in his lungs.

Yabu is panting too, but he doesn’t attempt talking. He just nods and stands up. Undressing as he follows Hikaru’s suggestion.

Hikaru’s bed is a single, but that’s never been an issue with Yabu. Beds in double rooms for tours never used to be too big, and neither were the beds in any of their rooms before they moved out their family’s homes.

It goes as it always used to go before, only this time the lube and condoms are on Hikaru’s bedside table instead of hidden away, somewhere where his mom wouldn’t find them.

Yabu bits back impatient moans and grunts as Hikaru lubes him up, ignoring all pleads for him to hurry up. But Hikaru knows Yabu is more than aware that this will happen on Hikaru’s terms or not at all, so he still takes his time. And maybe he does enjoy they way Yabu twists and arches, asking for more as silently as he can. 

“Is this okay?” Hikaru asks, finally.

There’s a pillow under Yabu’s hips, and the tip of Hikaru’s cock rests just against his opening. He knows the angle will work. He knows Yabu’s body as much as he knows his own.

And the question is almost ritual. But Hikaru needs the answer. He has needed it every time since all of this begin. 

Yabu nods, adds a throathy _“Go ahead.”_ Because he also knows Hikaru like the palm of his hand.

The heat that engulfs him is something he will never get used to. No matter how many times they do this. So tight, so good when he begins thrusting, that for a fraction of a second all Hikaru’s barriers drop, forcing him to accept that there might be more to it. That this might be more than comfort or yearn for familiarity. 

But then Yabu comes, with a sharp intake of air and his nails digging into Hikaru’s buttocks, forcing Hikaru deeper still.

Every thought in Hikaru’s brain melts down, his blood singing to the staccato rhythm of his hips. He isn’t going to last long.

“Can I come inside you?” Hikaru asks, right into Yabu’s ear, and then proceeds to bite his way down, towards Yabu’s neck, as close to his Adam’s apple as he can get.

“You’re wearing a condom,” Yabu giggles; spent, sated. So, so low. “You don’t need to ask.”

Hikaru doesn’t need to be told twice.

He grabs onto Yabu’s hips and pounds into him harder, quicker. He knows Yabu can take it, would know it even without the small encouragement sounds that manage to escape from Yabu’s tight sealed lips.

Hikaru lets it all go; with a deep grunt and a deeper thrust, gravity pulling on his limbs, on his whole body, on his very soul, with every secret hurt and all his repressed feelings. Leaving him empty, exhausted, and, just for a second, at peace.

***

They weren't friends; they didn’t have to lie about it in interviews.

Whenever they were together it was either uncomfortable dead air or endless fights between them. Yabu was the most stubborn person Hikaru knew. Their bickering was legendary even amongst sempai, even when they were still Ya-ya-yah and the other two members were balsamic to their complex relationship.

Still…

Something always drove them together, made them need each other like they needed oxygen. Maybe sex was the only way they could act on it, back then, because everything else just hurt too much.

Yabu was the constant reminder of what they had lost, but Hikaru couldn’t help but need him. He knew that was also true for Yabu.

So the cycle repeated itself, over and over; surrendering to the devastation of lust and passion, and then the guilt. The brokered peace. The distance, and the fights. The tension. The breaking point. And back to beginning. For years.

Hikaru’s heart never broke. Because this, his relationship with Yabu and everything it entailed, wasn’t about love, about that nebulous notion he had no idea about, that he wasn’t sure even existed.

If Yabu’s guilt hurt was because rejection hurt in itself. He convinced himself of that. And buried everything under the heaviest door he could find within his soul.

***

Yabu is still there when Hikaru wakes up.

That’s odd in itself, because Yabu hates sharing his bed. Consequently, he has never been much of a snuggler. But now one of his long legs is lying is across both of Hikaru’s thighs, and his left arm rests casually on Hikaru’s waist. Yabu’s cheek lays on his chest, right over Hikaru’s heart.

And he’s not asleep.

“Good morning?” Hikaru mumbles, warm with waking up and more than a little confused.

Yabu kisses Hikaru’s chest, a chaste and simple brush of his lips that makes Hikaru quiver nonetheless.

“Morning,” Yabu mutters, his lips barely separating from Hikaru’s skin. And then he kisses it again. Open mouthed and a lot hotter this time.

“Are you still drunk?” Hikaru’s brain is making a valiant attempt a waking up completely, but Yabu is not cooperating. At all.

“I wasn’t drunk last night, Hikaru.” Yabu’s tone somehow manages to be serious while he keeps trailing kisses down toward Hikaru’s abdomen.

Hikaru could very much let him go on. Morning sex with Yabu is a rare occurrence given his aversion for staying over. He should relax and enjoy the moment, show that he learned something in all these years apart. That he isn’t the same neurotic asshole -Yabu’s words- that he’s always been.

Only he is.

And, for some reason, this doesn’t feel right. If he’s honest, it never felt quite right. He just wasn’t able to pinpoint why he felt so down every time Yabu walked in and out of his bed again. He used to be too young, but now he’s more mature. Both of them are.

Adults.

Sober adults.

And maybe love doesn’t exist, or maybe it does and it _is_ something that just happens to other people. But maybe whatever it is that he feels for Yabu is as close to love as he will get. Maybe, just maybe, he’s a lot closer to that nebulous non-existing bourgeois construct, that scary four-lettered word that rhymes with dove and can turn your life into hell, than he thought he was.

It’s not an epiphany. Perhaps waking up to the sight of Yabu more or less holding him forced him to consider a fact that was always there, but he didn’t want to acknowledge. He just doesn’t want to be Yabu’s disposable anything. Not anymore.

Meanwhile, Yabu is still going south, and there are parts of Hikaru’s body that want nothing to do with feelings, and just crave the attention they know they can get from Yabu’s skillful lips.

Being an adult sucks.

“Hey…” He begins, softly. Petting Yabu’s disheveled hair. “Kota…”

This gets a reaction. Hikaru never calls Yabu for his first name.

“Wow,” Yabu sighs, as he sits up. “That serious, uh?”

Hikaru tries to smile, but suddenly everything inside him has turned into heavy lead, dragging him down. It hurts a bit to force his voice out, and even then it only amounts to an airy stutter.

“Let’s stop, okay? This… everything...”

He won’t make a drama out of this. Yabu should know that. Hikaru loves their group, loves that they are finally a coherent energy going places; big places. He won’t endanger everything they have accomplished.

“Why?”

Hikaru could laugh at the expression on Yabu’s face. So damn stubborn, so very Yabu. Hikaru wants nothing but kiss him.

Who knew two cans of beer and sleeping with the apparent love of your life could make a sap out of him.

Hikaru feels tempted to make a joke. Tell Yabu he is in too high demand now or something like that. Save his pride somehow. But they went through hell together back then, and Hikaru feels he owes Yabu at least this truth now. They might not be friends, but lies were never part of their strange agreement.

“I’m too old to keep being your rebound fuck.” Hikaru tries to take the edge out of his words. He is almost sure he fails. “It’s starting to hurt too much.”

To his surprise, Yabu laughs.

It’s an infectious sound, not mocking and without a trace of sarcastic venom. Yabu’s eyes all but close in mirth, and then he is kissing Hikaru, light and playful.

“You’re not a rebound, you idiot!” 

“But… you said…” Hikaru is so confused, he forgets he has to stop Yabu from kissing him, forgets he was supposed to be ending this.

“I don’t have a girlfriend. We broke up over a year ago, even before those pictures got leaked.”

“What?” Hikaru can’t help it. His heart is beating way faster than it should, and there’s something that feels awfully close to hope blossoming in his chest. “But… you didn’t say anything. Last night you…”

“I got carried away,” Yabu says, not even having the decency to sound apologetic. And that’s _so_ Yabu.

“And you just forgot?” Hikaru snaps, he’s mad in a giddy way that makes no sense. It just is. Happiness and irritation in equal parts, entwined, indistinguishable. “Just like that?”

“Stop being a neurotic asshole!” Yabu retorts, still smirking. And Hikaru is about to consider punching his face when he adds, “Be _my_ neurotic asshole. Be with me…”

The bastard has the nerve to pin him down to the bed, a fluttering “Please,” leaving his mouth just before capturing Hikaru’s in a kiss so passionate it makes Hikaru head explode.

And Yabu might be chaos impersonated and grate on his nerves like he was born with the sole purpose to do so. But Hikaru cares about him, he even likes him. It’s more than worth a try.

Maybe this is what love is about.

***

A couple of hours later, Daiki breaks into Hikaru’s room, covering his eyes with one hand as he walks slowly, his other arm extended in front of him as if to avoid walking into a wall or some other structure.

“We’re going to go out for breakfast, if you lovebirds want to join us,” he declares, without uncovering his face.

Hikaru just sighs.

All of his friends are idiots.

And he loves them.


End file.
